


Interfacing habits of certain decepticons

by Darst-Llah (Darst002)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, alternate interfacing praxises
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darst002/pseuds/Darst-Llah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a set of drabbles to decribe interfacing differently.<br/>I accept requests for pairings</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Megatron

**Author's Note:**

> All transformers feed on energon. But every one of them processes the fuel differently, enriching the en with their own unique recepee of salts, metals, catalysators etc.
> 
> Interfacing is used to share fuel and it may save you... or hurt you.  
> And not just for that

With Megatron, it's always extreme. You get little warning before it happens, but a single glance he throws at you is enough to make you giddy with anticipation. Strictly speaking, there is no need in interface, the fuel shortage is long behind you, and nowadays even the lowest grunt in decepticon army has a spare cube of energon in his subspace. But Megatron still wants to be the one to bring energon and life into your lines. Your emotions swell at the thought.

So when he catches you alone and shoves you into the wall, your transfueling  lines are ready and all oiled up. His connector is like him - as prominent and unbending as his master. He trusts in and it's a tight fit up to the point of bending your interfacing array, but not enough to damage it. He moves and transforms his nodes inside you. You're torn between pain and want and you grind your dentas not to voice protest. It doesn't take long. Once he plugged into your main line and established connection sweet energon enriched with his unique blend of chemical modifiers and processors flows into your system.  You allow yourself a single soft moan to show him how much you like this rich, potent concoction and his tightened grip around your waist is the only response to that.

He tastes like nothing else. Unstable heavy metals and pure power and a hint of something elusive and so dangerous that your fuelling system glitches up with warnings. Your filters kick into action on top drive. You're not fully compatible, but that will do. The surge of power is overwhelming. You're overcharged and high on the feeling of might. Is that how it feels to be him? The reality slips away. You're overloaded. You hold on to his solid frame as your subroutines have to restart one by one. He holds you up, his grip on our armor tightening until your plates dent in, and you are not a lightweight civvie. But you don't mind. In fact.. Oh, never let me go!

He startles and stares at you and you realize with horror you have said that _aloud_.

That is out of line. That is so out of line that he will have to punish you now. You freeze, waiting for the inevitable strike.

His grip on your plates eases up a bit, but his hands stay on you and his helm presses to yours. You rather feel than see his smile and that is all the answer you need.


	2. Power games pt1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decepticons being decepticons, they cannot just fragg, they have to have a hidden agenda

He dreamed of you. You should know, you sent him this dream. This subtle, elusive masterpiece of a virus that filled his hibernating mind with silhouettes and glitter of your polished armor, promising whispers and endless corridors of the base that he had to run through pursuing a hint of you.

You watched him live this dream and noted his subtle reactions as if he was one of the lab subjects. Except he was not. You never wanted any of your lab subjects the way you desired him, desired this powerful chassis, these wings and thrusters and this intelligent, reflective mind... when you were inside his mind, you desired him so much that you had to remind yourself of caution and patience every time. This... seduction should be slow. You would not rush it. You needed him to come to you, not the other way around.

It would be so easy to just _order_ him to, insert a directive into his unguarded mind, but the consequences... You sighed and withdrew from Thundercracker's processor. It was enough for one day. Let the seeker recharge.

A seeker... you had never been with a seeker and you could tell yourself curiosity was what fueled this desire. That would be easier, but you never lie to yourself . You were being played by the only one in the faction (save Megatron), who could rival you in power games. This here would be your retaliation.

Anticipation tingled in your nets, the core temperature climbed another fraction degree up. Oh, but you enjoyed the power play as much as your adversary did, and the blue jet would be a nice bonus to this thrill. You just need to be careful not to tip the current power balance you and his trine leader had established long ago. Unlike your rival, you never forgot your priorities. First goes the Cause, then goes Megatron and your position at the decepticons, then go your Cassettes (in truth it was the other way around, but you wouldn't admit it even in the safety of your own processor), and lastly, comes the entertainment.

You had always known you were not the only one interfacing with Megatron (or rather being interfaced by Megatron). This knowledge never affected you: you had no claim over your master and no place to question or discuss his choices. You knew he used interface to both tie the volatile air commander and strengthen his loyalties. You knew it didn't work too well.

At first you were not sure what made Starscream start flaunting that relationship before you. What made him start meeting you on smallest occasions right after his rendezvous with your leader so he happened to have no time to cleanse the evidence of their not-so-secret meetings off his chassis?

What made him jolt up his wings like that and reek of overheated oil and coolant with the slightest hint of Megatron? What made him absent-mindedly rub that fresh scratch on his slender silver thigh... a scratch left by claws all too familiar for you to ignore? If he thought you would be jealous, he should have thought better. You were careful not to react, but he didn't stop.

It took you a while to realise the first lieutenant was teasing you. But when you did... Starscream being what he was, it was not just an invitation to interface (a challenge?), this had undoubtedly been a trap, just another trick in your constant under-the-carpet struggle... yet you had never been with a seeker before, so you responded. Just not the way the treacherous commander wanted you to respond.

Thundercracker. That should be close enough. You would pick Skywarp, but that one was both too easy to get and could bolt any moment. No, the quiet, secluded one was worth the wait. Besides, he had a nice voice and was blue. You always fancied blue.

* * *

****** POV change*****

You came online trembling with peripheral excitement and a dawning anger. You dreamed of him again. Armor plates rising slightly, your middleware tried to enhance ventilation to drive unwanted heat off your chassis. A servo brushed your side, smoothing the sensitive scales under it and rendering any attempt to cool futile. You startled, onlining your optics in a rush. You half expected the dream to turn reality, but a quick scan showed only one, bright and familiar signature.

He's leaning over you, studying your faceplate, and he undoubtedly can feel the heat emanating from your systems. It only makes his signature smirk turn into a full grin.

\- Dreaming again. - it isn't a question, so you don't answer, focused on his hand that still traces the edges of your smaller plates. The contrast between how fierce and rude your commander is outside your quarters and how delicate he can be on the platform never ceases to amaze. You let yourself be lulled by the caress, but apparently, it had been a question because he suddenly snaps the edge of your face plate and makes you meet his gaze.

\- Well? - he demands.

The anger you felt breems before grows tenfold and you growl with your acoustic cannon. Wrong move. The vibration resonating through your chassis only seems to amuse him. Moreover, it betrays your excitement. He arches a brow ridge and his servo slides lower, tweaking the sensitive sensors that are normally hidden by armor and you realise with belated horror that your plates are cracked open. No point denying.

\- Yes.

As if rewarding you for this one syllable word, his fingers press harder. Your cannon vibrates again and you surrender, dropping your helm back and staring past his antennae at the ceiling, letting him pet you as he pleases.

\- Hmmm..., - he purrs, sliding a probing finger into your transfueling port, carefully feeling out the protecting membranes and multiple sensors. By the end of this slow examination you are wiggling and venting and trying to impale yourself deeper onto his fingers. He pulls his hand away and you moan before you can stop yourself.

\- You are progressing, - he drops casually, - I must admit, he does a good job.

You whimper. The whole situation makes you extremely angry, not really at Soundwave, whose stalking style is unique but eventually harmless, but at your trinemate that makes you go with it and at yourself for letting him to command you like this.

Weren't you so preoccupied with getting Starscream to 'face you silly here and now, you would put up a fight, but open like this, with drops of overheated coolant making your ports glisten and tingle and wiggling in best traditions of interbots from holoporn, all you can do is plead:

\- Tell me again why I have to do this. I don't want him. I want you.

He leans back from you, robbing you of the tantalizing touch and his dazzling fields and you move to follow only to be pushed back down with his servo on your cockpit.

\- You wanna know why you're gonna march out there and let him fragg you as he pleases?

He left the platform and is standing beside it now, pinning you flat with one servo, while the other resumes teasing your interfacing array. Oh, you'd love to push him aside and switch places with him, bend him down and make him yours like he nearly never allows you, and you know you could pull it through - one his hand is not enough to contain you, but he doesn't need physical strength to do it, he holds you tight with his authority and your devotion and he knows damn well you will obey. And this thought adds more fuel to your excitement. He loves this game and so do you, and you know the rules too well, that's why your servo remain flat on the platform, willed to stay still and not touch your gorgeous commander.

\- You wanna know why you will open your ports before him and let him put his long creepy fingers into you... - a rough push of his fingers into your ports - both at the same time, - makes you arch - a hard task with wings on your back, - and spread your legs, bringing the knees up...

... why you will let him pour his fuel into you, - the fingers pinch the sensor at the fueling port, making you shudder and leak a little energon from it...

... why you will let him plug into every single one of your sockets, - the seeker's hands are dripping electric discharges onto barred metal of your numerous power and info lines...

... I could give you dozen of reasons. But you will do this... - the red and silver jet leans in, optic to optic and his glossa slides along your intake. You open up obediently and let him probe and knead your upper fueling line, causing more vibrations to emanate from your cockpit. You are visibly shaking with contained energy and another strong surge through his hand makes you gasp and cry out and his kiss swallows the sound.

He leans closer still, bringing his intake closer to your audiosensors and his hand moves from your cockpit to your neck cabling and it is dangerous as well as exciting as razor sharp claws grip your energon lines. His other hand is wrist deep in your facing array, never stopping it's movements, tweaking, discharging static onto your lines and you offline the optics as your hips buck up to urge him to go on with it. Overload is close, so close...

...because I ORDERED YOU TO - and as the words reverberate in your audials with the same shameless purr that usually haunts your wet dreams (original ones, not those sent to you by the telepath), he drops another discharge into your heated systems, knocking you offline in a blissful overload.


	3. Escalation. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short intermedia.  
> Skywarp and energon incompatibility.

Battle! Finally a real battle and not some lazy tuss ups and half-heated shootings. Turbines are roaring, fuel nearly boils up in your lines, null-rays are like staccato counter-point in your favorite symphony.  
Battle is life. Battle is a song. Battle is a dance, and you are a perfect dancer and so are your two partners.

You dodge clumsy flying autobots and set another tight curve and the air is screaming in pain when cut by blue, white and your own, purple, wings. Your trine's private frequency is dead. You don't need words, you act as one with ease that comes from inborn talent and vorns and vorns of practice.

Starscream's flaps lower a tiny fraction, and following this tiny hint the trine falls apart when you and Thunder dive aside - the leader allowed you free target selection for the next pass.

The situation below looks intense, and you register stunticons gather into the combiner and Menasor surges forward while Devastator raises from the tattered forest. Ground con forces double effort and you quickly find ground targets on autobots side, praying only that they didn't retreat just yet, Primus, let them hold a little longer, extend this bliss of action for just a few breems more.

However, autobots also come prepared today. Megatron's voice reaches you from below but you fail to distinguish the words (slag it, he's adressing the Prime anyway). The aerialbots (what a stupid name!) have regrouped, failed to corner Starscream (lost one injured in the process) and decided for some reason that you would be an easier target.

You check up Thunder's position, locate the second trine and laugh, as you send a few glyphs to Ramjet who turns to be the closest to you. He responds with 'got it' and the game begins.

Petty flying autobots have lots to learn before they can even hope to catch one of best Vosian seekers, but you feel playful today. And you let them catch up with you, falling out of Silverbolts aim at the very last moment, only to have your frame replaced with a missile Ramjet sent. Silverbolt barely avoids collision, and you are already popping and dissapearing all around, glitching their radars and disorienting his gestalt mates.

Oh, you are so annoying! And you enjoy it...  
Finally they loose formation and it is almost too easy to set them up for Thundercracker's acoustic cannon.  
Here comes the thunder!

But instead of finishing them up, your trinemate let the autobots land, focusing on something on the ground instead. You follow coordinates he sends you along with the emergency glyph.

You look down right on time to see Megatron and Prime meet in a one-on-one and beside them Menasor fall under Defensor's blows. Slag it. The combiner will now fall apart and Motormaster will undoubtedly go on a rampage paying no attention to surroundings, eager dump his irritation on his mates. And slag it, it means the end is near.

You transform and hang on the antigravs.

In the explosion-like cloud of dust that rose from the giant's ungracious fall you recognize four transforming sillhouettes. Motormaster remains on the ground.

You send and interrogatory glyph to Starscream and it comes back along with a curse and you quickly scan for your trine leader - he is busy, he is very busy pulling autobots ground fire to him and dancing around their rockets. You should probably help him but... he'll manage. Megatron, on the other hand, will not go easy on anyone for losing a valuable gestalt.

You pop out of the teleport among confused stunticons simultaneously with Dragstrip's and Wildrider's united SOS on the common frequency.

Motormaster is covered with energon, and his life signal is very weak. You scowl, trying to close your hands around the sleek chassis - his chest armor is broken in and the fuel is pouring our freely from torn lines like from an energon dispensor. It is a matter of clicks now.  
You disappear in the purple swirl of the teleport grinning to a strange and untimely image.  
If the black truck survives, he would be in your debt. Which means, all his gestalt members will be in your debt. You don't know why you'd need it, but you have a feeling it would come in handy at some point.

\- Knockout! - you shout on top of your vocalizer, as soon as the void around starts to look like the medbay. You drag the unconscious grounder up onto the medical platform - slag, is he heavy! - and freeze beside letting one lightning fast red medic do his job.  
In a breem or two the doc manages to stabilize the patient's spark and shoves you out of the medbay.

Outside the door you numbly look at your hands and arms covered with fuel that isn't yours. You're not used to such a view. Your weapons of choice - speed, unpredictibility, teleportation, rockets - don't suppose a close contact fight.  
You automatically pull your left hand to your mouth and taste thick smooth grounder's energon.

SLAGGIT!!

Your fueling system is still revved up and hot from the fight and now it nearly locks up with sharp and painful bliss. Analisator spits warning after warning as it distinguishes chemical elements of this... venom. Full incompatibility and catalytic features.

Sslaaagggit.....

You realised you already licked your palm clean and are moving onto your forearm. Your thoughts are scrambling the way they are during high-grade overcharge or as they did when you took pre-war synthetics. Your fuel system seizes up with failures, your interfacing array warms up by itself following the middleware imperative to obtain an antidote.

Who might have thought that this half-wit was so deliscious?

You look down at sparkling energon covering a great deal of your chassis and your video capture looks vague and distorted with other systems going astray. That's a whole lot of fuel. You could lick yourself into offline.

The processor seizes this word and produces a highly inaproppriate mental image: your trinemates squeeze your between, removing the shining streaks from your armor with their glossae, sucking in small droplets stuck in armor seems.

The image alone is enough to make your codpiece retract with a soft sound of decompression and in the lifeless corridor outside the medbay this unexpected sound restores your self-control a bit.

You still want to lick yourself into offline and interface with yuor trinemate to the same extent, but you already realise how close you are to losing it and offering your pors to the first mech who walks these corridors.

Besides... neither Scream nor Thunder would want the drug, of that you are sure. They are both too tight, too used to always be in control or too proud to lick you.

As you are already disappearing into the teleport you think that you know how Motormaster will repay you his debt.


End file.
